Blackened
by xFemdomx
Summary: Season 10 SPOILERS! What if Sam will never cure Deanmon? Jo tests out life with magical aid, brother is on the hunt for blackened brother, Hell is slipping from Crowley's fingers, and the rouge witch Rowena stirs up trouble for all sides in the background. When no one is on the same team and everyone has their own motives, how will the supernatural world fair in complete chaos?
1. Strange Days - The Doors

**Disclaimer: **In no way do I own Supernatural's characters or story lines.

**Note: **Thank you JbethH for making me realize Jo's character is one that I continued from my earlier fics, stemming from _Hunter's Playlist_ and _The Jo Collection_. I added a bit to this chapter serving as a small summary if you haven't read them.

And yes, the title of this story is a reference to Metallica's song of the same title, in the album ._..And Justice for All_

* * *

><p>Part I: Take Her Breath Away<p>

* * *

><p>The Black Spur.<p>

She was there, parked in front of bar and motel.

Crowley had appeared to her a week ago and told her where she might find Dean. There was, as always, a condition; she wasn't allowed to bring Sam, or Cas, or anyone.

He had warned that if he saw either in her company (of course he would be watching), he would warn his new favorite buddy and the two of them would ride off again without a trace.

Jo didn't argue that much.

She and Sam had become less and less talkative over the last couple of weeks. She felt he was becoming too intense to work with.

He was impulsive, and maybe just a little insane.

_All of the above really,_ she thought.

Last job they worked together he was acting altogether insane. Almost got the both of them killed. He ended up with damaged arm, and Jo with plenty of hefty bruises. After that, they kept a vaguely tense distance, the bunker was big enough that she only really saw him in the library or kitchen.

It's not like the two of them really got along that well anymore anyway, not after their adventures together without his soul.

And it wasn't like Castiel and she ever really had much of a special relationship either. From what she understood, he was back on Angel duty, not to be disturbed with anything unconnected to Heaven.

Jo decided to keep hunting. Since both Winchesters were off, consumed by their own problems once agin, there was a lot backed up, and she decided to make it her mission to try to return the supernatural order to some kinda normalcy.

A lot of hunters died over the last few years, but the chaos was far from over. And once again, she drew the short straw for backup.

It's why she tried her hand in practicing white magic a couple years back, for the extra firepower in desperate times.

When Kevin was still alive and on the run, Dean in Purgatory, and Sam living the romantic veterinary life, Jo had to promote herself in the business. And the pay was not without cool magical perks.

She and Garth became the frontrunners against Crowley's burning desire for the Demon Tablet and all the power it possessed for his kingdom. Jo had responded with a cleaner kind of power, and became a self-taught witch to fight back with a little of the same supernatural muscle he had flexed around her constantly.

And now, years later, the King of Hell was still the center of her troubles, even when she didn't particularly know it yet.

He reminded her of this after a typical salt n' burn, a mischievous twinkle in his eye and the offer on his lips.

Everything that he'd put her through in the gap year of the Winchesters should have made Jo stab him with the angel blade right when he appeared.

She nearly did, until he mentioned Dean and his current condition.

It crossed Jo's mind when Crowley told her; _why does he want me to find Dean?_

That took some time for her to riddle out.

It was The Mark; it needed to be fed.

And Crowley needed confirmation that his new best friend would choose to stay a demon over seeing a face he used to love.

Jo guessed he was working his way up the latter. Maybe he would appear to Sam after this, get even more proof that Dean was choosing a life in the black over his old life in green.

It was pathetic, she thought, the way Crowley's been suffering from the feels for quite some time now. His demented need to be loved was just a terrible fit for a ruler of Hell.

Jo wasn't exactly sure _how_ Dean was now, or exactly where he was on the richter scale of evil. But it was Dean, so she had to show.

Old habits die-hard, and the days get stranger still.

And here she was, surely with Crowley's goons somewhere in the shadows, making sure Sam and Cas weren't in the picture.

She got out of the car.

Armed with only her new found witchyness based in stones strapped to her fingers, an angel blade, and Dean's old pearl-gripped colt loaded with bullets engraved; trap on them.

Joanna walked up to the room that Crowley graciously supplied her with during their little secret meeting.

She pressed her ear to the crack.

His voice definitely was grumbling, rough, exchanging with another, lighter one.

A woman.

She blinked, and vaguely felt the familiar drop of heart weigh down on her stomach. It wasn't that surprising, but still, it picked at a strange, former wound of hers.

Jo kept her ear there, hearing no clear words, and going over her options in her head;

_Kick in now, or wait until she leaves? _

She looked down at the doorknob, as if to guess if it was unlocked or not.

_I never was a patient woman. _

Fastening her palm around the doorknob, she twisted it determinedly.

It was locked.

The talking inside quieted.

Tapping into the Bloodstone on her right forefinger, she easily pulled the metal bars magically back into their wooden holes.

Joanna twisted open the door.


	2. Who Will Be the Next In Line - The Kinks

The other woman had her hand on their side of the doorknob, she felt, but pushed it open nonetheless.

Feeling the Bloodstone funneling power into her body, Jo got a first look at Dean.

He lay on the bed, sheets furled and bunched around his shirtless form.

Jo crossed the threshold the moment they met eyes. She stopped after the first steps inside the room, feeling the thickness of the air press against her skin.

"Excuse me-"

"Well!" Dean interrupted the woman on Jo's left with a wide smile, "Little Jo-anna." he split her name, drawing out the 'o'.

"Dean." she responded, cooly, feeling her chest constrict at the sight of him.

He got up from the bed, bouncing off of it creepily cheerful.

And completely naked.

"Well shake me up and cream in my mouth."

She and Jo remained quiet, staring at him.

"Like whipped cream in a can?" He shook his head, "Damn, you girls have some dirty minds."

His tongue flicked over his lips deliberately smooth, staring Jo down.

"How did you find me?"

"I didn't."

He offered a wide smile, eyes fading behind her, looking for someone.

"Sam with -?"

"No."

She had guessed his question before he asked it.

He grinned and chuckled, as if she were not a threat without his brother.

"Alright, sweetheart," he stretched his arms out and took a step back in challenge, fingers twitching beckoningly, green eyes gleaming nastily, "give me all you got."

She simply stood there, staring at him.

"No need to be shy, Anne here has seen it all."

It was the first time Jo looked at her, and it proved very eerie.

Anne looked strikingly similar to her.

The resemblance was a bit alarming. Blonde hair, thin face structure, small nose, full mouth, even her body type seemed to match Jo's. Perhaps the only contrast was her eyes; a light blue-grey to Jo's brown.

Anne shifted uncomfortably, eyes suddenly downcast, realizing their similarities also.

"Anne." Jo spoke her name.

She did not meet Jo's eyes, but focused somewhere on her face instead.

"I'm sorry. I need some time alone with him."

The other blonde heaved in a defiant breath, then moved her eyes surprisingly to meet the huntress's, "Are you his wife?"

Jo was taken aback, but rejoined immediately, "No."

"Girlfriend?"

"No."

Dean whistled low, "Let's move it along here, Chrissy Cryptic."

Jo turned her attention back to him.

Anne still didn't move.

"You know what Jo?" Dean made a show of trailing his eyes all over her body, licking and biting his lips generously.

Then he made an indifferent face and shrugged his shoulders, "what the hell, I can go another round," and winked at her.

Jo felt herself shudder inside with contempt.

"Go on, Anne Marie, ol' Jo and I got some things to do."

This time, it was Jo who refused to look at Anne, though she felt the other woman's cheeks redden from where she stood. Jo could feel the offense roll off of her as she collected her clothes, and passed quickly behind Jo, and slammed the door harshly on her exit.

Jo thought she heard a faint sob sound through the closed door before Anne ran off.

The huntress just kept her eyes on Dean.

He trailed backward to the bed, sat and patted the mattress aggressively beside him, "C'mon in, Jo, I bet I'll show you a whole new side to me."

She didn't answer, stepping into the room further, but stopping short by the dresser. There was no intention to get in the bed with him.

He scoffed, flashing her his signature cruel smile, "Well then," he got up off the bed again, slid on some black compression shorts and sauntered toward her.

Jo tensed, clenching for an attack.

He got awfully close, reaching behind her to grab the bottle of rum that sat on the dresser, then reached on the other side to get the glass, completely cornering her body with his, her bottom against the short wooden furniture.

It was so confusing, for Jo to have him so near, for her to still feel that want to grab him in a hug, to feel like he was _her _Dean.

_But he's not. _

"Why are you here?" His grumbled breath warmed her face. He drew the bottle and the glass in front of her, pouring himself generously before putting the bottle back down.

Rather than say she didn't know, Jo reigned in her lips.

He leaned in close again, and flashed his eyes to black.

She knew what he was, but the sight of it sent that chill through her spine.

"Come to take me away from all this?" he backed away from her, his smile wicked, eyes still blackened.

Dean threw back the drink, "Or - you're dying to play out your newest fantasy?"

He his grin grew smugger, eyes returning to her favorite green.

She took the gun from the holster snug under her shoulder and cocked it.

"Mhmm," he hummed pleasurably at the sight of it, "Safe word's 'Bananas'."


	3. Piece of Your Action - Motley Crue

"Dean-" before Jo could continue to speak, he threw the glass at her.

She lurched to the side as it shattered on the wall behind, shards spraying at her back.

Swinging back up from her duck, she aimed the barrel at his leg - but was too late. He was already on her, wrenching the gun from her hands, and laughing while she struggled to keep it.

His muscle was far superior, but Jo quickly boosted her strength, feeling the Carnelian power draw from her thumb ring.

Both their hands were on the gun, applying opposite supernatural forces against it.

Their fronts pressed against each other violently, their faces close.

"Ooh," his eyes twinkled, feeling her power, "You got some witch in ya. I hate that."

He released one arm suddenly, grabbed the back of her head and forced it diagonally down.

Jo's nose smacked onto the dresser, painfully.

She shouted and loosened her grip on the gun, and threw it to the side hastily.

Trying to ignore the rush of pain and dizziness, Jo quickly counteracted with a powerful kick to his stomach, using the dresser as a crutch for steadiness.

It hit.

Her hands grabbed the bottle on the wood before he could rejoin, and she took the opportunity to smash it across his head.

He only stood there, bourbon and shards of glass trickling down his face. He exposed his tongue and licked all that it could reach.

_Damn those moments of panic._

He took a step toward her.

"You never learn, little Jo."

He punched her before she could raise a block.

She stepped wide and circled around, ready for another.

"No back-up."

He came swinging with his other arm.

Jo blocked, redirected, and landed her own fist to his jaw.

Something popped loudly, bone girding on bone.

She withdrew to a defensive stance and saw her damage.

Dean's jaw was dislocated, jutting grossly to the left.

He regained balance from the blow in two backward steps. Forcing back into place and healing it instantly, he offered a bloody grin.

"No plan." he spat red directly at her feet.

Dean dodged her second kick, and grabbed her leg as it came down. He used it to whirl Jo's body to the other side of the room, letting go once momentum got going. Unable to stop it, her front plowed into the wallpaper, a series of sharp pains matched with it.

She drew the angel blade and twirled to face him, slashing before he could get overpoweringly close.

He jumped impressively away from the blade's horizontal motion.

"I got props." she answered, tasting the blood from her nose drip over her lips.

Dean laughed, "That you do, girlie."

She lunged to cut through him, he dodged again, and snapped his hand out to grab at her wrist. Jo jerked it out of the way, and shed the silver by his left side.

She got the inside of his arm, right at the crook.

The blood ran freely down his forearm, his teeth bared in minor pain.

Dean lifted his eyes from his quickly re-sealing wound, back to the huntress he fought.

She raised her weapon, switching grips of it so the blade came out the bottom of her fist. Jo hesitated when she met his greens again, and swallowed hard.

Dean saw her stance waver.

He smirked,"You can't kill me."

"No." She agreed in anger.

Jo prepped her grip again, this time to throw it at Dean's arm to pin him against the wall.

As if he read her mind, he lifted his hand, directing his black energy to catch it.

The blade flew from Jo's fingers, but stopped mid-air near his palm.

She felt his power constrict around it.

Channeling her Onyx stone, she called the gun to her hand. It flew from the corner of the room directly into her palm. I

n turn, the blood trickled faster out her nostrils while the stones synced with her body's energy flow.

The blade was hurling at her.

Planting her feet, Jo jerked her head and shoulders out of the way. It zoomed past her face, flying up stray hairs and stuck sharply to the wall behind.

She faced the gun's barrel down again, and pulled the trigger.

POW.

It went right into his foot, the demon trap bullet anchoring him there.

Dean screamed even lounder, "BITCH!"

"You're forgetting the 'son of a'."

He growled, ripping the back of his throat. Throwing out chaotic arms to grab her, to break her.

She backed well away from his reach.

Viciously frustrated, his hand flew up to command the blade behind her free from the wall.

Counteracting his move, she promptly gripped it with her own power, overwhelming his and immediately and rejecting his influence of its movement.

"Looks like you need some more practice, hun." She allowed herself a smile for once, "Don't let it get to your head, I've just got a knack for it."

He snarled, eyes black, and hunched over his shot foot, as if to move it.

"Stand tight, Dean." her smile gone as she unpocketed her phone, "We'll figure this out."

"Only thing I need to figure out is what I'll rip off your body first."

Taking a breath through that statement, Jo scrolled to Sam's name.

_I won him fair and square Crowley, now I'll call whoever the hell I want._

Turning away from Dean, she pressed the call button.

It rang once.

The room turned oddly silent.

A second ring reverberated.

Jo turned, to make sure -

There Dean stood, fingers dripping in blood, warped bullet held between them.

_I should have shot his hands._

She dropped the phone, raising the gun- Dean threw the hunk of small metal, and with his power, it zoomed straight into her flesh. Jo felt it cutting through the soft spot just below her shoulder, through the nerve. It didn't exit through the other side.

The strike followed down to her hand, and immediately affected her secure grip on the metal. She dropped the gun, unable to hold it anymore. The nerves in her body flashed burning hot, and her vision fuzzed to thick black and white dots.

Dean was smiling ruthlessly, his eyes swallowed in black.

He stepped to her, having quickly healed his own foot.

Jo tried to raise her arm in offense, but was met with another shock, reverberating through her nervous system.

In her moment of suffering, he had taken the blade from the wall and shoved it into her other under shoulder, mirroring the bullet wound across from it.

She screamed.

Dean took her by the throat, leaving the blade inside, and her air supply was suddenly cut off.

Enormous pressure constricted around her throat as he lifted, her boots jittering just off the floor.

Her body fell into chaos, writhing anyway it could with limp, injured arms.

Jo's panic consumed her, and it did not occur to employ the magic dimly available at her fingertips.

His hand squeezed tighter and tighter, her eyes watered heavily, her nose streaming blood.

Dean Winchester was going to kill her.


	4. Hush - Deep Purple

**Note: I couldn't resist making each chapter based on a song like playlist. I'm inspired by songs much to much! WARNING:_This chapter includes a torture scene and instrument that may be graphic to some readers._**

* * *

><p>Just before Jo thought she would suffocate by Dean's hands, he threw her onto the bed.<p>

Coughing, she bounced, and gasped for air.

Her oxygen depraved brain didn't even register his visiting all four corners of the frame bed, tying her limbs up to the posts. Only when he wrenched her injured arms up to tie them, did she realize what he was doing.

Screaming in pain again, she drowned out all other thought.

He slammed a fist into her stomach, and she heaved up silence.

"Keep it down!"

She sputtered, weakly, "Fuck you."

He smiled, "Anne already did," he pulling at one of the ties, "she likes it kinky."

Dean sat on the bed next to her tied form, sighing.

Tears were streaming in reaction to her arms, she could feel the bullet and the blade inside, she could feel the chord of nerves on either side tearing slowly in the position.

She whimpered at the thought.

His forefinger pressed to her lips, "I told you to be quiet."

Moving that same finger, he lightly drew it around her jaw, down Jo's neck and playfully circled her shoulder wound…

"I've always wanted to do this."

"Dean, no-!" she realized what it was.

He stuck his finger into the hole where the bullet tore through.

She bawled her agony to the air, and his hand ripped out of her injury and slapped down on her mouth. His finger, wet and warmed in her blood, smeared over the side of her face.

The demon leaned in close as she sobbed, his nose touching hers, "I said, hush." he said firmly.

Dean brought this other fingers close to Jo's right eye, holding up two, "I'm adding another one for that."

Jo braced herself for the pain, her breathing amplified against his hand.

Dean forced his fingers in, stretching and ripping the flesh carelessly again, and she screeched without control behind his palm.

Black eyes sunk them in deeper, raising his voice over hers, "The more you scream, the further I go!"

She couldn't help it, her legs were kicking uselessly, the arm offended twitching uncontrollably, her body raking in terrible sensations, her mouth against his hand still screaming.

He let out a short laugh, "Sounded kinda naughty didn't it?"

Joanna felt his second knuckles pass into her shoulder, his fingernails scratching bone.

Her eyes wrenched backward, stomach and nervous system pinching eratically. Blinding sensations struck her consciousness. High pitches of pain stung at the core of her body, jutting deep into her nerves and muscle.

Shuddering, she cut her scream off, trying for control. Jo clamped her lips shut under his rough palm, and whimpered as quietly as she could let herself. It was an imimpossibility to remain silent.

"There you go, Jo, there you go."

He rubbed his blood-slicked finger against her teared cheek, as if to pet her into encouragement.

Dean thrust his other fingers deeper still, and she let a hushed, agonized moan tear from her throat.

"Good girl." he praised, watching his fingers slide inside her, her nose brushing his cheek.

Laughing, he raised them out, then plunged them in again. And again and again and again.

Jo's throat was raw, trying to keep quiet, keeping her pain contained.

"Very nice!"

He took them out and gabbed her face with both his hands, squeezing her cheeks, "What should we do now, huh?"

He pushed her head into the pillow harshly, her face painted in her own blood from his fingers.

Jo could smell it. Her stomach heaved, but nothing rose besides the bile that rested in her mouth, burning. She swallowed that, body sweating and shaking.

He got up from the bed and walked over to the dresser, opening a drawer to retrieve something.

The young witch took her chance, "Secare arctior-"

Dean turned immediately and slashed his fist into the air, transferring the blow onto her throat through his limited telekinesis.

She was silenced again, feeling as if her trachea was severely displaced from the hit.

Black eyes took something long and metallic out from inside the dresser drawer.

_Is that a cattle prod? _Jo thought, frightened for the reveal.

Dean walked back over to the bed with it in hand.

Leaning over her, he started removing the stone rings from every other one of Jo's fingers and the bracelets on her wrists.

"This is why props just don't work for you, Jo."

Lastly, he pulled the horned bronze necklace harshly from her neck.

Smirking at the amulet back to her, Dean let them all drop in the trash, "Once I take them, what do you have left?"

Jo shuddered, knowing there was nothing to draw power from now to help her escape.

"I can use 'em because I don't _need_ them." He reached behind and pulled out what he had retrieved before.

"They're all kinds of fun, though. Like this guy," He held it out for her to see better, "he's a Lead Sprinkler."

Her face grew steadily whiter, recognizing what it was.

It resembled a wand; one end decorated lavishly for the holder, the other a large spherical container. Half of the dome was thick and solid metal, while the other half bore strategic holes.

"Now, I know what you're going to say; it's a little outdated, but man, I love the classics."

Joanna tensed and shook, the breathing from her nose erratic.

In response, he smiled, pleased to see her frightened.

"Let's play a game Alistair and I used to during downtime in Hell; guess what's inside." his finger tapped lightly on the bulbs bit.

Twirling the torture device, he held it experimentally in hand, sphered end to the ceiling.

"Boiling water? Oil? Tar? Lead? Or something else…"

The huntress's wide eyes focused with terrifying clarity at the holes that riddled the bottom half.

Dean turned it slowly upside-down above her stomach, and molten silver dripped from it to bore and bubble into her skin.


	5. Crossroads - Cream

Part II: In the Exit of Humanity

* * *

><p>His arm ached.<p>

Sam grimaced, driving down a road with large fields surrounding it in an unfamiliar car.

Damning the weakness of it, he thought back to how he broke it all those years ago, at the beginning of hunting, in Illinois.

In 2006, he and Dean had been in Greenville, when the teenage girl had been sadistically preserved as a zombie by her want-to be ex lover. Her tackle was all dead-weight and his arm had broken under it. Since then, it had never been exactly the same, and a couple of weeks ago he was reminded of that during his hunt with Cas and Jo.

Greenville was a smoother fight than the more recent one, even after all his new experience and strength gained over the many years.

It just wasn't the same, the teamwork.

Yes, the three could work together, but something was missing, and it disjointed them from an even hunt. His arm was direct proof of that.

Jo and he had a spotty history at best, while still friends at heart, it scared him how well they could react to each other in combative situations. It brought back biting memories of him as a conciousless person. He sensed it made Jo extremely uneasy also.

Were they always destined to evolve into such a person?

To be a hunter, there was a callousness, one that grew so steadily it was hard to even notice. And now we were flashed back to review our years in past, Dean missing again and the two of them working together again.

Was the ruthlessness worth it?

Right now, he'd have to answer yes.

He and Cas, on the other hand, had problems flowing from a different vein. They're constitution of teamwork lie in an emotional sense, both having done major wrongs in the past and eager to redeem themselves. Their over-compensation launched them headlong into any altercation, and acted without each other's cooperation.

As Sam analyzed his relationships with his closest friends, he understood why they hadn't faired well in the fight weeks before.

It it explained the drifting, in a way that no one had even actively tried to stop.

_Dean would have, _he thought,_ he would have reminded us what it meant to be family. _

And his brother needed him now, even if the note said different.

Nothing, not even the lack of help and friendship would stop him from finding him. He was going to pay it back, all those years Dean sacrificed fro him, had sought him out and saved him from certain death. For being the one constant in the entirety of his life.

His debt to Dean just kept growing.

Apparently, not even falling into the depths of hell with Heaven's two biggest bosses for a year could fully repay.

Sam realized he was once again, in debt to him, even after which was met by Sam with only ungratefulness and loathing for months at a time after another failed death.

It was Sam who pushed him inadvertently into the Mark. And it was his turn, again, to make up for it, to get him back.

And there he was, pulling up to a wayside bar; the first he saw on his journey. The directions to the nearest crossroad were all mapped out in his mind. Now all he needed was someone to summon for him.

As a Winchester, his face was on the warning bulletins of every Demon office around the world.

Parking quickly, he stretched his body out of the car, shoving Ruby's knife into his jean waist band for good measure.

It was strange to him, after all these years that he still called it 'Ruby's', and ironic that he and Dean had killed her with it.

The sudden thought of the short brunette was another pin mark to the bulletin of his mistake board, and drove a spike to his heart.

Flushed with more determination, Sam walked directly to the bar's front door.

Stepping over the dusky threshold, his eyes adapted to the signature yellow hue of a dive bar. The counter in sight, he adjusted his dislocated arm to a more comfortable position.

Sam curtly asked for the most watered-down beer from the tender, paid and turned to his options.

It was early in the evening, he purposefully came in at this hour, hunting for the hopeless people it would attract.

They were scattered all over the establishment; a couple with distant eyes playing pool, a single, clearly ex-military man playing darts with great force.

_Not him_, Sam decided immediately.

There was an older woman, hair short and sticking out everywhere with a drained pint.

_Maybe._

His eyes rested then on a perfect Mark sitting on the bar.

This man in his mid-thirties with an over grown mustache curling over his front lip was talking to himself, as the bartender was clearly not listening.

"What am I supposed to do now?" he was saying.

_Perfect._

Before Sam could even lift a leg, his cell phone buzzed in pocket.

Placing the bottle in the grip of his useless arm, he dug it out.

**Joanna** the screen read.

He stared at it as it finished out the first vibration, debating to answer.

It shook again, and her name glared at him, a vivid blue in the background.

In the middle of the third, her ignored it, sliding that red button under his thumb.

Shoving his phone back into his jean pocket, Sam moved in on his target.

Half-way draining his beer, he was certain that she wouldn't call again.

Sam made a note to listen to his voicemail later.

He slid into the seat beside the man, thoughts of Jo fading from his focus.

"I feel like my life is over." the civilian was saying, "Oh geez. I should've seen it coming. When does anything ever work out for me? Huh."

"Hey there." Sam lamely broke the ice

"Hey."

"Sounds like, uh, thing've been a little rough on you lately, huh?"

_This will be easier than I thought. _


	6. If You Want Blood (You've Got It)- ACDC

**Warning: **Again, this chapter contains themes and devices of torture and may be graphic to some readers.

**Disclaimer: **I obviously do not own Supernatural!

* * *

><p>"Hey, Hey!"<p>

The demon was slapping her face.

"Wake up!"

Her eyes opened to green ones, her nose awoke to thick iron, her flesh fused tightly with beads of hot silver, all her bruises and breaks and gashes returned tormentingly into existence.

The immediate response was to look away, but Dean grabbed her jaw with his bloodied hand, forcing her to keep contact.

"You passed out, Joanna."

She tried to squirm away from him, but he held too firm.

"You know, there was a time I couldn't make you leave me alone. And now you just fall asleep during? What happened to that passion?"

The blonde stared back, eyelids drowsy and drooping.

He jolted her jaw and pressed down harshly, "Answer me."

"Dean, please…just-"

"Make it stop?"

Jo's lips trembled.

"Kill you?"

She sucked in a careful breath, accepting this might be how she was going out.

_The irony._

"Nah, I would never kill you. You're too much fun."

The bile rose again, acid in her throat.

Crowley said that to her once, too, years ago.

He released her jaw, delighted to see how much he had broken her.

"We'll do something else."

Reaching over to the blade that had rested in her shoulder for hours, he gripped it, twisted and drew it out simultaneously.

Joanna growled in intense pain while he did, feeling the fresh flow of blood trickle down her armpit and onto the mattress. She tried to control the new wave of tears stinging her eyes and face.

No doubt this would be worse than the last round of torment that had lasted hours.

When Dean had exhausted his use of the Sprinkler, he busted out his first blade, then Thumb Screw for her toes...and beyond that she could not remember. Dean had screwed the latter instrument far past the resounding breaks from the big toe before he realized that she was unconscious.

The demon crawled onto the bed, his arm reaching around her side and lifting her body easily upright. He still had the angel blade in hand, it pressed sharply against her opposite breast, streaking her shirt with the blood on it.

Sliding himself neatly between her back and the cushioned headboard, he settled into bed behind Jo, his legs on either side of her own.

Though the thought crossed her mind, the witch was too weak to act on any kind of chance to struggle against him for escape. Without her magic, her strength was laughably defeated compared to his.

She felt his warm from against her back when he released her, allowing her body to fall back against his. Dean blew Jo's wisps of hair away from his face, and his cheek pressed lightly to the side of her head.

"What, feeling deprived? Crowley's not the cuddling type?" she rasped out.

He chuckled, "Cute," and moved the blade across her chest, his chin resting on her shoulder to see what he was doing.

Jo clenched, breathing heavily, anticipating a new, deep cut.

"Shh, shh," his other hand petting her hair, "Just relax."

For a minute or so, they remained like that; him stroking the blonde curls, Jo wondering what he had planned, inwardly flinching.

His chest rose to speak.

She held her breath, fearful.

"You know you're the one of the only witches I've seen who uses rocks?"

_What?_

"Most just get it from Demons. No depending on those stupid things-"

Joanna scoffed, thinking she knew where he was getting at.

Her voice scratched out, "I'm not selling my soul to you."

"There are other ways to borrow power, babe."

Pressing himself up against her, he leaned the two of them slightly forward. She winced and sucked in the pain that strained her tied and injured arms, her shot one surely dislocated.

From their left side, his arm crept out, over hers, leveling it with her lips. At the crook, where she had cut it open in the fight hours before, the blood was dried. His other arm took the blade in hand and re-opened the skin exactly were it had been before.

His blood gushed forward.

"I mean, Sam was such a badass when he did."

She got it now.

"No, no, Dean, no!"

Jo's body began to buck and writhe, all injuries forgotten in sheer panic, trying to throw herself away from him.

His legs twined themselves suddenly around hers, forcefully straightening her knees and holding them in place.

"NO! Dean, _please_, no!"

He threw the blade to the side, and moved his arm under hers to quickly grab and steady her jaw with his hand, placing his fingers on the flesh between the teeth to keep it wrenched open.

The demon's bleeding arm began its constriction around her face, his bicep flexing against her cheek.

"NO!"

Joanna shrilled; the sound amplified against his skin.

Fitting his arm around her face, he locked her into position, the wound open at her mouth; and squeezed.

The blood poured in, sliding down her throat. It gurgled there, as she tried to instinctively cut the flow off with her tongue. It only filled higher and higher.

"Drink. It." Dean's command cracked in her ear.

Jo refused.

He flexed his arm around her face one more time, and the blood filled up, reaching her canines. Dean's arm released and moved away from her mouth.

She sprayed some out before his palm thrust her jaw upward suddenly. There was still a good amount inside her mouth. His large hand encompassed her lips entirely, his thumb and forefinger clasped around her nostrils.

The huntress thrashed her head around, trying desperately to throw his grip off. He responded by wrapping his bloody arm around her waist, clamping her closer to his body, anchoring Jo from movement.

He would not release either grip.

The blood sloshed sickeningly in her cheeks.

Joanna's lungs burned for air.

Deep laughter filled her ear.

In a panic, her throat opened, and gulped it all down.

He lifted his hand from her face, and she gasped for breath, the iron aftertaste tingling on her tongue.

Desperately, she tried to cough it up, to make herself heave it out, but neither prevailed.

Feeling that dreadful chill creep under her skin, it rose fearful bumps to the surface, and she fully grasped what had just happened.

Already, she could _feel_ it spreading, dispersing from her stomach.

Dean guided them back down, as if to relax once more. His fingers stroked her hair, proud.

"Atta girl."


End file.
